


time to think

by stonerjohnlaurens



Series: Them King's College Days [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Is that the word???, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Tumblr Prompt, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6669064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerjohnlaurens/pseuds/stonerjohnlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HORSEGEMCIPHER ASKED: Prompt #31: I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified, Lams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time to think

“What?”

“I said, I thi–”

“I heard what you said.” John snapped. Alexander shut his mouth at the cold words and waited for John’s reaction.

They never said that word, love. Not to each other. Never. It’s never seemed necessary. Alexander wasn’t sure if that was because it was already implied in the months they had been dating or if it was just not needed, at all. 

He thinks back to the previous months. Sure, they’d been ‘dating,’ technically. They both referred to each other as boyfriends. Alex much more often than John, but they did so nevertheless. That’s a good sign, he continues. A start.

They were fooling around when he blurted it out, the word tumbling off of his tongue like an unruly animal, and John froze and backed off of him as soon as Alex finished the statement. Alex can’t stand it - he’s too quiet, goddamn it - and he wants to go back to the way it was going. John’s large hands in Alex’s smooth hair, his mouth at his desirous neck, the quick stutter of baby baby baby on his throat, wanting and lewd, the notion of love only a suggestion, only implied –

All hopes of continuing that are diminished, as John is just sitting there like a fucking useless waste of space, making the moment grow more and more awkward as he goes without responding. 

“Sorry,” Alex hears himself say. It’s not a conscious effort, he’s not sorry for anything, he meant every word of it. The idea of loving someone as much as he loves John is horrifying.

He had old romps some might consider loves. The closest he got before John was Elizabeth Schuyler, a wondrous woman. Their relationship was already rocky as their sexual needs were incompatible, but it all fell apart with Alexander’s stain of infidelity. She wasn’t too distraught, but he broke it off with her anyway. If the shame hadn’t turned him away, the way her sister reacted certainly would have (he didn’t think there was enough makeup in the world to cover that bruise).

There was Robert Troup, his roommate from his first year at King’s, who often batted his eyelashes Alexander’s way.They fit together sexually, but in no other way. Robert didn’t care much for Alexander’s habits, his little quirks, his tendencies to pick fights or much of his…anything, to be perfectly clear. It couldn’t be argued that this is possibly love, right?

Oh, but John, John’s so different. The sexual aspect is nowhere near a problem, with their staggering height difference (only three inches, sure, but it’s enough to count) and fiery bedroom personalities (all of his other partners had hesitated; John rejoiced with Alex’s requests, a bit of a sadist himself). They meshed perfectly well together emotionally, too, as they both picked fights and debated without a clear end in sight. If Alex were to come back to campus with a nasty scar from a bar fight, his boyfriend wouldn’t dare scold him, only kiss his wounds, congratulate him, and beg him to tell the tale behind them.

He never had a doubt about anything in his life, and this was the least difficult thing he ever had to think on.

Yet, John needed to think.

“I need some time,” John says finally, after what feels like a century’s long hiatus. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Just. Time.”

Alexander suddenly becomes hyper-aware that he’s not in the comforts of his own room. This is John’s room, John’s bed, John’s single dorm his uppity Southern money paid for. He feels out of place, his heart aches, but he obliges.

“Okay,” comes the response. “Time.”


End file.
